Fish grass rises as if soaring through the air.

A fish’s reaction speed is roughly three times that of an average human. Normally, when someone tries to catch fish barehanded in a river or stream, they usually come up empty—unless they’re especially lucky or highly skilled at it, they might catch a few. Even seasoned fishermen who make a living from fishing rely on special tools for the job, which shows how difficult it is to catch fish by hand.

However, thanks to his significant improvement in martial arts, Chen Jue’s speed and explosive power had reached the peak of human capability. With a subtle exertion of internal strength beneath his feet, he could cover three or four meters underwater so swiftly that even the fish couldn’t react in time. When he grabbed the tail of the largest yellow croaker, the other two smaller ones only then realized what was happening, darting away more than ten meters in an instant.

In fact, had Chen Jue used both hands, he could have caught a second fish, but he didn’t want to wipe them all out. He was more than satisfied with just the largest one. The big wild yellow croaker thrashed and struggled in his grasp, its tail exerting a crisp, powerful force—enough that an ordinary person would have lost their grip. Yet, with his increased strength and mastery of two hardening martial arts techniques, the skin of his palm was immune to friction and pain, tough enough that even thorns would have difficulty piercing it, let alone a fish’s scales or fins.

Dragging the golden, shimmering croaker behind him, he swam back toward the shore. When he passed the stone sphere, he decided to leave it on the seabed for now—after all, no one would dive down here to cause trouble, and he could retrieve it next time he practiced. Before leaving the water, he marked a deep circle around the stone sphere with his foot to prevent ocean currents from erasing it, making it easy to find the next time he dove.

Holding the meter-long golden fish in one hand, Chen Jue climbed swiftly ashore. The big yellow croaker, a deep-sea species that usually dwelled forty to sixty meters below, had survived being hauled into shallower water, but as soon as Chen Jue dragged it onto land, it struggled a few times and died immediately from the change in environment.

Chen Jue knew that such a precious wild fish needed to be kept chilled as soon as possible. Without delay, he dashed off, holding the yellow croaker aloft with both hands, running barefoot along the steep cliff path through the grass as if walking on flat ground, paying no mind to the pebbles and fragments underfoot. In less than two minutes, he had sprinted into his small villa, moving with a speed and lightness reminiscent of a martial arts hero.

Inside, he found a bucket, placed the fish inside, then emptied all the ice shards from the freezer into the bucket. Not bothering with his saltwater-soaked, sticky body, he peeled off his swimming trunks, wiped himself down with a towel, changed into sportswear, grabbed the bucket of iced fish, and hurried to the first villa to find the landlord.

"Uncle!"

"I just caught a big yellow croaker!"

"Do you know anyone who can buy it?"

The landlord’s door was always open—because he ran both a guesthouse and a seaside farmhouse, and both he and his wife were early risers, a habit from years spent fishing. Chen Jue entered, bucket in hand, and saw the male landlord sitting at a wooden tea table in the living room, leisurely smoking, brewing tea, and scrolling on his phone.

"Ahem... What? A big yellow croaker!" The man, in his fifties, was indeed fit for Chen Jue to call him uncle. The cigarette trembled between his fingers as he jumped up from the table, peering eagerly into Chen Jue’s red plastic bucket. The meter-long fish was so large that much of it stuck out of the bucket, impossible to miss.

"Wow!"

"Young man, you’re about to strike it rich!" The uncle was even more excited than Chen Jue, raising his voice as he inspected the fish. Suddenly, he snapped to attention and said, "Wait a minute!" He rushed into the backyard, making a clatter, and came back with a square white plastic cooler.

"You can’t keep it in a plastic bucket—it’ll spoil. It needs to go in this insulated box!" The uncle strode over, gently lifting the croaker from the ice to avoid damaging its appearance, knowing that a pristine look fetched a higher price. True to his fisherman’s experience, he carefully laid the fish flat in the cooler, then layered the ice shards beneath it, padding as needed. Sensing that there wasn’t enough ice, he fetched more from his own freezer, filling in the gaps around the fish before covering it and sealing the box tightly.

He then, from somewhere, produced a foam box and slipped it over the cooler for extra insulation.

The landlady, busy making breakfast in the kitchen, heard the commotion and came out grinning from ear to ear, chattering excitedly in the local dialect with her husband. Their speech was a mix of Minnan and obscure Wu dialects, quite different from the usual language of Wenshi, making it impossible for Chen Jue to understand.

Seeing Chen Jue standing there wide-eyed, the uncle quickly switched to heavily accented Mandarin. "I know a boss who buys fish! Want to go now? The longer you wait, the less fresh it’ll be. Best to sell it as soon as possible."

"Then I’ll trouble you for the introduction, Uncle!" Chen Jue nodded, then picked up the heavy foam box.

The uncle grabbed his car keys, skipping breakfast entirely, and started up his Great Wall pickup truck in the yard. He insisted that the foam box not be placed in the back but laid flat on the rear seat, explaining that the sun would melt the ice faster if it was left outside. Chen Jue didn’t object—he set the box in place and wedged it with something from the armrest compartment to keep it from sliding during sudden stops, then took his seat in the front passenger side.

They drove out of the guesthouse courtyard, down to the main road at the foot of the mountain, and sped toward the county town.

On the way, the uncle chatted with Chen Jue about the price of wild yellow croaker. He said that if such a fish were caught during the New Year period, it could fetch several times the usual price—because during the holidays, city tycoons are willing to pay top dollar to entertain family and guests, and it’s even harder to fish at sea in the bitter cold. Fishermen’s wages skyrocket, and every cost rises, making large fish scarce in the market.

In the off-season, wild yellow croaker might fetch a few thousand per pound at best. However, Chen Jue’s fish was huge—over a meter long, likely more than ten years old and extremely rare. The price would fluctuate and would have to be determined by the fish buyer.

Some of the larger seafood restaurants on the island also bought such prized fish, but the prices they offered weren’t as high as what the fishmongers paid. According to the uncle, these buyers had connections with wealthy gourmets, five-star hotels, and Black Pearl restaurants, allowing them to offer better prices than the local seafood establishments.

There were all kinds of fishmongers: some waited at the docks for fishing boats, some ran their own supply ships to intercept catches at sea, and others were fishermen themselves who turned into fish dealers in their spare time.

Having spent half his life as a fisherman, the landlord was a fountain of knowledge on the subject, and his stories amazed Chen Jue—he had never imagined that even selling a fish could be so intricate.